


Stinger

by Forest_Girl



Series: Danero Week 2019 [3]
Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: Blood, Caretaking, Dante Whump, Dumb!Dante, Hurt!Dante, M/M, Mild Gore, Poisoning, Serious Injuries, Whump, chicken soup for the soul, except not really because Dante never gets the soup, non-explicit gore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-27
Updated: 2019-09-27
Packaged: 2020-10-29 03:02:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20789534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Forest_Girl/pseuds/Forest_Girl
Summary: A mission leaves Dante injured. Nothing new, of course, but it also poisoned him to the point where his healing factor couldn’t keep up, which left Nero to take care of him.Easier said than done.





	Stinger

**Author's Note:**

> Wounded Dante? Check
> 
> Dumb Dante that doesn't know what bed rest is? Check.
> 
> Nero having to deal with his dumbass boyfriend? Check.
> 
> The perfect recipe for a good danero fic.

Nero had learned, in the past twenty-four hours, that Dante had absolutely no sense of self-preservation.

The night prior, Lady and Trish stumbled into the shop, both holding up a very bloody, very _ injured _ Dante between them, his feet dragging against the floorboards. Apparently, they all went on a joint mission together, and they fought some big, octopus-like demon thing by the pier. Should’ve been easy.

_ Except _ Dante got bit by it, and then covered in the ink it regularly shat out. Said ink was incredibly toxic, got in his bloodstream through the punctures and other cuts he’d gotten from the fight, and it was only his demonic healing keeping him from kicking the bucket. The ladies had to leave to explain to the authorities what happened and get the whole place cordoned off, since people could easily just wander up to it and get horrifically poisoned. 

So, in a stroke of wisdom, they brought Dante to the shop, dumped his sorry, unconscious ass on the couch, and told Nero to deal with him.

Well… at least they were right. Nero wasn’t about to let Dante bleed out. He cleaned and bandaged Dante’s wounds, which was _ really _ easy since Dante couldn’t be a whiny pissbaby about it, and then dead-man carried him up to his bed. Erring on the side of caution, Nero grabbed a bucket and placed it by his bedside. The ladies hadn’t told him what the poison did, other than eventually kill a normal person, and he didn’t want to risk Dante puking everywhere if he got _ really _ sick.

After that, Nero began to worry. Though he knew how to take care of wounds, poisoning was something out of his area of expertise. In the Order, Nero’s education covered the basics—proper cleaning, bandaging, and setting dislocated limbs—as only those wanting to be medics were given more extensive training. 

And even then, all of that was meant for _ humans. _ He and Dante had time and time again defied death, getting impaled, bitten, slashed, had thrown into and _ through _ walls, and really, if they were human they would’ve been dead ten times over. He didn’t know how that knowledge changed with half-demons, or if the poison was killing him slowly or not. For all he knew, Dante was already on death’s doorstep, and all Nero could do was wait.

Nero groaned, forcibly pinching himself before settling down in a loveseat by Dante’s bed. Worrying would do nothing for him _ or _ Dante. Right now, he had to hope that Dante was recovering and would hopefully wake up soon. He’d stay awake for now, if only to make sure that Dante was still breathing every now and again, maybe clean his wounds in a few hours.

Right now, Dante needed help, and Nero would be damned if he would leave him alone.

* * *

Loud clattering and muffled cursing startled Nero awake. Weak rays of sunlight lit up the room, landing perfectly on Dante’s sweating, bandaged back. He leaned on the bed, his right foot stuck in the bucket as he grit his teeth, trying to push himself back up.

“What are you _ doing?” _ Nero hissed, standing from the chair and placing his hand on Dante’s back and shoulder, helping him stand up straight.

“Why’d you put a bucket there?” Dante griped, stumbling back.

“It was in case you threw up.” Nero pushed Dante towards the bed. “C’mon, you gotta rest.”

“Kid, I am not at a point in my life where I’m going to willingly piss into a bucket when I could walk to the bathroom.” Dante batted at Nero’s hands. “And you don’t need to help me anywhere, I’m fine.”

“Yeah, because you _ normally _trip over buckets.”

“You put the thing there!”

Nero rolled his eyes, but backed away, holding his hands up as Dante stood up. He wavered, his hands shaking slightly, but he slowly made his way to the door, Nero a few paces behind in case he fell, or his legs gave out. Thankfully, the bathroom was right across the hall, but Dante glared at Nero when he attempted to follow him in. “Look, I know we’re dating and all, but I’d appreciate some privacy while taking a leak.”

Nero bit his cheek, but sighed and leaned against the wall, waving his hand at Dante to go ahead. “If you need anything, I’ll be right here.”

“I’m not runnin’ a marathon, kid.” Dante smirked, then closed the bathroom door. Nero sighed, tipping his head back until it thumped against the wall. Really, he should’ve expected that Dante would act worse than an actual child. If their roles were reversed and Nero had gotten injured, he wouldn’t be acting much different from Dante right now.

But… Dante would probably be just as protective as Nero. Possibly moreso, given that he was less demonic, and his healing would be much slower.

Nero’s musings were interrupted as Dante left the bathroom, running a hand through his hair. He’d clearly seen better days, but he also didn’t look worse, which was all Nero ask for, really. 

“Alright.” Dante clapped his hands and rubbed them together, brushing past Nero as he went to the stairs.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” Nero grabbed his arm—not tightly, but just shy of pinching—and pulled him back. “Where are you going?”

Dante looked at him like he’d grown a second head. “Kid, the demon wasn’t _ small. _ I’m going to help the ladies, make sure no one else gets hurt.”

“Yeah…” Nero started pulling him back to his bedroom. _ “Or _ you could take it easy because you’re still healing and the ladies have it handled.”

“Nero, I’m not crippled. I’m completely fine.” Dante tried to pull his arm free from Nero’s grip, only to find that he couldn’t. He stared at Nero’s hand like it had personally offended him. “Quit holding so tight, Nero.”

“I’m barely holding on.” Nero frowned, his concern rising as he now pushed Dante back to his bedroom. Dante offered up a token resistance, but Nero easily pushed him towards his bed. “Seriously, Dante. Today, you’re going to take it easy and _ not _ try to hurt yourself more.”

“For the last time, I am _ fine.” _

“Like hell you are!” Nero growled, placing his hand in the center of Dante’s chest and easily pushing him back onto the mattress. If that wasn’t enough, Nero also poked at a few spots of red that had soaked through Dante’s bandages, the older hunter biting his lip and tightly closing his eyes. “You are _ hurt. _ You’ve been poisoned and aren’t healing properly. You’re currently bleeding, probably because falling and moving to the bathroom pulled your wounds open.”

“Okay, then, I’ll _ be _ fine.” Dante glared at him, though his eyes appeared unfocused, and there was a slight flush to his cheeks. “You don’t need to coddle me like this.”

“For fuck’s sake, just let me help you!” Nero shouted. “God, someone wants to make sure you don’t die, and all you tell them to fuck off instead of dealing with a day of not having to do _ anything _ and not getting bugged about it!”

“I’m not telling you to ‘fuck off’—”

“Yes you are!” Nero could hear his pulse in his ears, and he forced himself to lower his shoulders and take a breath. Leveling an annoyed glare at Dante, Nero turned on his heel to the bedroom door. “And since you clearly don’t want my help, I’ll take the hint and leave you to stew in your own miserable shit. Have a nice day, jackass.”

Nero slammed the bedroom door behind him, and hoped that Dante would take the bait.

* * *

So, Nero wasn’t going to leave. Not even if Dante shot him point-blank with Coyote-A, then impaled him with Rebellion, or one of the other thousand swords he had laying around. Dante was still injured, and he didn’t know how to take care of his wounds. _ Someone _ needed to keep Dante from doing some stupid shit that would end up _ actually _ killing him.

However, Dante was also a stubborn idiot who’d sooner throw himself into a pit of lava than let someone coddle him, even though he _ loved _ to coddle Nero. It was a weird, paradoxical thing that made Nero want to break Dante’s nose, but that wasn’t possible right now.

Instead, Nero was going to channel his anger into cooking the best goddamn chicken noodle soup ever. 

The Devil May Cry kitchen wasn’t used frequently, if only because it tended to be cheaper to get take-out than buy groceries. Plus, he and Dante got called out so frequently, they often didn’t have time to spend cooking… _ anything. _ At the very least, they could get a decent-quality pizza for cheap that could last them the whole day.

But now, Nero had time, and he’d gone grocery shopping the other day after a bountiful job. It didn’t take much effort to rinse out a pot for the broth, setting a timer for thirty minutes as got a second pot ready for the noodles.

About halfway through cooking the broth (and only a few minutes after he put the noodles on to cook), a loud grunt and series of bangs made him run out of the kitchen. At the bottom of the stairs laid Dante, who was groaning as he curled into a ball, holding a hand to his head.

“What the _ fuck!” _ Nero rushed over, helping Dante up off the floor as gently as possible. The small patches of red on his bandages from earlier had spread, and Nero suppressed his panic as much as possible. “Why the hell did you try to go downstairs?”

“Thought I heard you down here.” Dante moaned, leaning heavily on Nero as he was lead over to the couch. “Wanted to see what you were—” Dante groaned as Nero lowered him onto the couch, helping him lay down. “—doing.”

“Dumb motherfucker.” Nero chided, sorely tempted to smack Dante’s head. The only thing holding him back was, since Nero didn’t see how he fell down the stairs, he couldn’t tell if Dante had a concussion. “Stay here or, so help me, I’ll tie you to this fucking couch.”

“Ooh, kinky.” Dante teased, but thankfully didn’t move. Nero eyed him as he circled the couch, then ran upstairs, ducking into the bathroom to grab clean bandages and rubbing alcohol.

When he came downstairs, Dante looked over the back of the couch, and paled. He jumped up from the couch but, either his wounds were affecting him more than he thought, or he moved too fast, because he teetered and started to fall. Nero rushed over and grabbed him, managing to push him back onto the couch instead of letting him fall to the floor again.

“Dammit, Dante!” Nero placed the back of his hand on Dante’s forehead, trying to see if Dante had a fever. “Don’t scare me like that.”

Ignoring him, Dante tried to shove Nero away, only to growl when he didn’t budge. “You are _ not _ going to put any of that stuff on me.”

“What part of ‘you’re not healing’ isn’t clear?” Nero pushed him back on the couch, starting to unwrap the bandages around the worst wounds on his chest. “If we don’t clean them, they’ll get infected. If they get infected, you’re going to get worse, and you aren’t going to heal quicker.”

“Yeah, and I’ve used it. It _ stings.” _

Nero gave him the flattest look he could muster. “If you can handle getting thrown through walls, being impaled, and being stuck in a demonic tree for a month, you can deal with me cleaning your wounds.”

Out of options, Dante gave him the best puppy dog eyes look he could muster, sticking his bottom lip out. “Nero, _ please _don’t.”

“I’ve had to do this with three human children. Multiple times.” Nero pulled the last of the old bandages away and unscrewed the rubbing alcohol. “There is not a single thing you can do that would convince me to _ not _ do this.”

Dante groaned, and Nero got to work.

**Author's Note:**

> I probably could’ve gone on longer, but 1) I’m writing this on the 21st and I have two other fics for the week to complete at this point and 2) I don’t really picture Dante and Nero taking care of each other in a soft, touchy-feely kind of way. On top of neither of them really need a lot of care when it comes to their health and well-being, and I feel like Dante would whine more than anything about it being a waste of time and money, while Nero would have to begrudgingly deal with it.
> 
> Maybe one day I’ll write the reverse of this whole situation—with Nero badly hurt and Dante absolutely failing to do anything properly because “oh god how do I fix boyfriend aaaaaaaaaah”—but it won’t be for a while.


End file.
